Foray
by owlady
Summary: It's three years after the first landing, and Human/Cybertronian Relations are falling apart. To save one planet, some form of trust needs to be built. 3 human adolescents have volunteered to become the building blocks of the New Human/Cybertronian Alliance, but with the recent appointment of a new Prime and building political drama surfacing on Cybertron, can they succeed?
1. Prologue

_FORAY_

_It's the year 2014, and Human/Cybertronian Relations are falling apart. To save one planet, some form of trust needs to be built. 3 Human adolescents have volunteered to become the building blocks of the New Human/Cybertronian Alliance. With the recent appointment of a new Prime and building political drama surfacing on Cybertron, can they succeed?_

_(_**_WAY_******_AU TFP-verse, vaguely based on James Cameron's Avatar. I own neither franchise.)_

_Prologue:_

Three moons floated through the sky, gracefully illuminating the busy surface of a mechanical planet of towers and clockwork. Full of light and sound, Cybertron seemed alive in the same way that Tokyo and New York were; ads spanned the sky, mechs and femmes were crammed into the roadways, and all sorts of commuters flew or hovered though the busy hubbub of the planet's capital city-state, Iacon. Though it seemed bustling, there was a sort of pause in the air- a brief tension that was unresolved amongst Cybertron's citizens. Inside the Council Spire, an argument was brewing, much like the others that had preceded it.

A large grey mech with angry blue optics was bickering with his brother, a slightly shorter red and blue bot who reeked of authority. Both mechs were positively enormous, dwarfing the car-sized cleaning droids who roamed around their pedes by at least five times.

"I am telling you, Orion, we must make a move! We _know_ the artifacts to be on that pitiful planet. Why will you not just take them?!" the grey mech demanded, mimicking the action of sweeping something into his arms.

His brother watched him impassively before he vented long and hard. Optimus Prime was constantly reminding Megatronus to call him by his primely name, though Megatronus seldom listened. Unless, of course, he was angry.

"Because, Megatronus, the humans are a sentient species! To invade their planet without their cooperation would be to violate their baser freedoms," Optimus rebuked him gently. Megatronus snorted, crossing his massive silver arms. They had been debating for vorns now, and neither had made any leeway. Megatronus had wanted to scream every time his brother had shot down another of his suggestions.

"Ah, yes," the grey mech replied dispassionately, "Your infamous Autobot Lawbook again? You must rid yourself of these delusions, brother. How sentient can the insects truly be? They have barely achieved space-travel! They have had more wars between them during the last century than Cybertron has seen in half of her existence!" Optimus looked darkly at his brother, crossing his own arms in return.

"Cybertron herself has her own scars, Megatronus. Or can you say that any one of the human's wars has lasted as long as one of our own?" The prime asked him seriously. "Humans are a much younger species than we. It is our duty to guide our alien brethren, not to dismiss them. It is not Primus' will to abandon those in need."

"They are not our brothers, Optimus. Or have you forgotten," Megatronus bit out, leaning towards his brother in his building anger, "That they _have no sparks_. Humans are animals! Controlled by baser instinct and chemical response! Only Cybertronians are worthy. _We are final_. I will not see our race _destroyed_ by something so ephemeral! " He slammed his silver fist against the table between them, drawing a thunderous clang.

Optimus Prime stood tall against Megatronus. The two's optics were directly level, and anger in different forms traveled between them.

"Are we not mechanical organisms? Do we not have our own instinct within ourselves that we obey despite our greater sense?" Optimus rebutted angrily, gesturing to the dented table. "You forget, Megatronus, that Cybertron will be lost to the bonds of time. We are all ephemeral, and I will not allow you to be consumed by the mires of your spark!"

Megatronus's temper finally broke.

"WE MUST HAVE THE OMEGA KEYS!" The ex-gladiator cried, instinctively entering a battle-crouch as he tried- and failed- to draw his sword. "AND YOUR PITIFUL HUMANS REFUSE TO ALLOW US ENTRY TO THEIR PLANET! THEIR HIDEOUS _MUDBALL_!"

"That is the key, Megatronus!" Optimus said, clasping Megatronus' shoulders tightly. "It is _their_ planet! Cybertron will not become to Earth was Quintessa was to her!"

"Quintessa was dying, Optimus. The chaos-bringer saw to that," Megatronus spat as he tried to wrench himself away. "AND SOON WE WILL JOIN THEM!"

"We have survived for long without the Omega Lock, Megatronus! And we will continue to do so without robbing our allies and becoming the very monsters we despised!"

"CYBERTRONIS _DYING_!"

Silence followed, filled only by the harsh vents of Megatronus and the scrape of metal on metal as Optimus leaned backwards.

"Cybertron is dying, and you refuse to save your planet for one who would not care if we lived or died. Mark my words, brother- you will regret taking their side!" Megatronus shoved Optimus Prime away, getting to his pedes. The grey mech's optics burned hotly, and he despised this weakness.

Optimus stumbled, his eyes still wide as he watched Megatronus storm to the door and angrily punch in the code to open it. As the door hissed open, Megatronus turned his head and glared at his brother, blue optics briefly becoming a rage-filled red.

"You will regret it," Megatronus snarled, and his voice broke. The door slid shut behind him, and Optimus held one servo over his spark, feeling the deep frustration of his brother. The Prime was fearful, not of Megatronus' claims, but because of what he could feel through their weakening bond.

Megatronus was not making an idle threat.

Something had to be done, but Optimus Prime would not compromise his morals, or Primus' will. Inflicting suffering to another race to save their own was unthinkable. Why was his brother like this? Had the pits of Kaon left more than the scars on Megatronus' plating? Perhaps… perhaps… Optimus did not wish to think deeply on the subject. No, not Optimus. _Orion Pax_ did not wish to. And Optimus Prime could not return to being Orion Pax.

The Prime collapsed into a nearby chair stationed at a computer terminal, holding his helm in one hand._ Something had to be done_, he repeated.

Quietly, the mech booted up the computer he had stationed himself at, and called Ratchet. An agreement with Earth had to be come to. Just like with Megatronus' distaste for humans, the line must have run in the opposite direction for Earth. While Cybertronians understood humans and humans understood Cybertronians, it was clearly superficial. But, the Prime reasoned, there had to be a way to understand. To make those who would not think deeply.

For as much as the two races would like to debate, Cybertron and Earth were twin planets in specie, size, and life.

"Optimus," his friend greeted him. "Was there a reason you have attempted communication?"

"Yes, Ratchet," Optimus replied. "I have decided to grant permission to Perceptor's project."

Ratchet looked surprised, his usually stern face smoothing from its harsh lines.

"Perceptor's project?!" The medic said incredulously. "You don't mean that social experiment he's been trying to push into human testing for months?! Optimus, you can't be serious!"

"I am not joking," the young Prime vented softly. "I am giving Preceptor full run of the CHA science division."

"This is not an idle decision, Optimus! Come what may, Perceptor's project has not been properly tested, and there is no guarantee that his methods will work. If something goes wrong, we may never be allowed on earth soil again."

"I appreciate your concern, old friend," Optimus said quietly. "But I believe in your medical capability and Perceptor's mind. We must take risks to bridge Earth and Cybertron."

"I only hope you can handle the risks you wish to take," Ratchet muttered, his shoulders hitching. The medic turned away from his screen to face another computer. Ratchet vented and acquiesced. "I will inform Perceptor and Unit E that the project has been approved."

"Thank you."


	2. Chapter 1

_Chapter 1: Three years later_

"_The world as we have created it is a process of our thinking. It cannot be changed without changing our thinking." –Albert Einstein_

"Once again, Energon Stocks have dropped to an all-time low as Cybertronian markets fail to meet earth demands. Shareholders were enraged and devastated by the failed shipments, and legal actions have been taken against our alien allies-"

The channel flipped, cutting off the newswoman as she straightened her papers.

"It's just not right, these Sy-burr-trow-niyans. They're living weapons! We can't trust them around our governments, let alone our children! If you agree, please vote yes on Bill A113, which will ban these mechanical monstrosities from our schools-"

A man in a pinstriped suit with a rather large mouth was silenced as the channel changed again.

"-and lord, our god, we pray for our alien brothers. Though they know you by another name, we know you truly and deeply, and wish to share you with them-"

The teen turned off the TV, groaning. The world still seemed to be in an uproar.

Cybertronians had shown themselves to Earth not even 3 years ago, and nobody could make up their minds on how to think about them. Were they enemies? Of course, said one half of the population. They were born with weapons, didn't share their technology when they had first landed. They treated humans as if they were made of glass! Not so fast, said the other half. The weapons could be disabled. The aliens were sharing their technology now, and humans _were_ pretty destructible compared to them.

Jack didn't particularly care one way or another. He had never seen a cybertronian, aside from on the news, and he and his mom's house was powered largely by solar panels, not clean-burning energon. He turned off the radio when transmissions from Cybertron were made available to the public, and tried to avoid the ever-present media-storm that had covered the television since he had started high school. Jack's world was very small, and he preferred to keep it that way.

However, some cultural osmosis was impossible to avoid. Sometimes Jack couldn't help but side-eye a car that was running without a driver, or roll his eyes at the constant press coverage. _It's like they're celebrities or something,_ Jack would grimace as he rode his 10-speed bike to his job at the KO-burger if he saw group of people pow-wowed around the TV screens in the building. But it wasn't worth getting worked up over. Eventually, he reasoned, the aliens would leave, and life would return to normal.

For now, on a tired Monday morning before school, Jack was at the mercy of morning television talk shows and whatever his mother had decided to leave in the refrigerator, which was hopefully not more organic tofu. Otherwise, he'd have to scrounge up something edible himself.

Normally, the boy had an early-morning shift at the fast food restaurant where he worked while his mother slept off a long shift at the hospital, but for some reason the two of them had gotten their schedules flip-flopped. Now he was stuck with a body that decided 4 AM was a perfectly normal time to be awake, despite the fact that the school day didn't start until 8.

Making his way into the kitchen, Jack absently turned on the lights and the radio clock, glad to find organic eggs and some cheese (not skim, thank god). There wasn't anything pre-made and easy to eat, but Jack reluctantly admitted to himself that he _was_ up earlier than people usually were. Good thing too, because he was struck with a sudden idea for breakfast. Omelettes.

Jack only realized after he had gotten out the pan and spatula that there wasn't anything to listen to on the radio but Triple-J News or the 3G Bulletin. Both of which had done nothing but complain about the energon shortage for the past 3 weeks. Just what he needed.

Jack sighed through his teeth, turned down the radio, and high-tailed it to his room to find his iPod. Sometimes he hated Mondays.

* * *

><p>Miko loved Mondays.<p>

Mondays were the days when a whole new school week started and she got to see her friends at school. Mondays were when Slash Monkey updated their twitter feed with exclusive sound bites. Mondays were almost universally hated by everybody else, and Miko was glad to feel unique in her enamor with them.

If you had to twist her arm, make her say uncle, and DEMAND why Miko _really_ loved Mondays, she would probably tell you the same thing every single time. But you'd have to catch her first, and Miko was fast. So yeah, Miko loved Mondays, but nobody really knew why.

Mainly, this was because nobody would guess that her reasoning was actually really simple:_Mondays were the days that new information came in from Cybertron._

Miko loved Mondays, because Miko loved Cybertron. Cybertronians, the planet, energon, all of it. Miko was living right in the middle of some heavy-metal real-life concert, and she _loved it_.

Seriously, aliens make contact with Earth during her life time?! And not only are they aliens, but they're GIANT alien ROBOTS. _Who turn into cars. _And trucks, and planes! It was like something out of one of the mecha anime she used to love to watch behind her parent's backs when she was younger. So who cared if Miko liked to drink up every last drop of information she could get her hands on? It was too awesome to ignore!

Miko couldn't believe the nerds who stuck their heads in the sand or the geeks who tried to talk down her major-miracle. Who wouldn't want to hear about this? Who wouldn't want to talk this _up_? It baffled her. Once again, she would repeat, GIANT ROBOTS. From SPACE. In their own backyard!

That was why she was up at 5 AM, tuned into Triple-J AF-1 with a half-eaten bowl of cereal and her laptop at the ready. The livestream of the Cybertronians' new leader, Optimus Prime (even their names sounded cool!) was coming on in less than 20 minutes. Miko was fully dressed, had already used the bathroom, her axe was on the bed next to her, and her door was firmly closed. Nothing could go wrong!

Miko idly played with her cell phone, watching as the comments on the stream scrolled past. It was all pretty standard stuff, if a little more positive than what she normally heard on the news. There were benefits to subscribing online to all the best channels- you got all the best news first. She had gotten linked to this semi-private stream through an Autobot Fan-Forum by Raf, also known as MARScatsFeEdEr, and she was like, eternally grateful. She'd have to send him some of the GIFs she'd whipped up- his normal fare was getting kinda thin. Miko didn't know you COULD run out of funny cats.

Her cereal was getting soggy, and the marshmallows were gone. Miko always picked those out first. Sometimes she wished they made a box of nothing but marshmallows, and absently she imagined what her straight-laced okaa-san would have said about that.

"_Miko, you will ruin your teeth! Fun is banned, must I remind you? Why are you eating when you could be studying or practicing your piano? I hope you have a daughter that gives you as much grief_!" Miko mocked in Japanese, giggling as she put her half-full bowl on her desk. Honestly, Miko loved her mom, but there was a reason she had left Japan. If the girl had stayed in her parents' house for even another year, Miko was sure she would have died inside or something. She _hated _piano. The guitar was so much more her speed.

Why was waiting so slow? The stream had loaded up, and now there was some news-dude she really didn't care about blabbing about how the energon-shortage was affecting something or other. Yadda, yadda, yadda, man! Get to the robots already, Miko wanted to shout! She scoured the screen for something that could be interesting, finding nothing but a throng of shouting people with signs. Miko scowled and flopped backwards onto her monster-truck patterned sheets. They weren't even GOOD signs. Some guy in the front row had misspelled "alien", for crying out loud!

If Miko was there, in person, she would have an autograph book, not a picket. These guys were actual superstars, _from the stars_! And the Japanese girl wouldn't have misspelled anything as basic as alien. Even she knew how to spell that and English wasn't her first language!

Ugh, if the stream didn't start soon, she'd have to skip again, and then her host parents would tell her real parents that she'd missed school. It took a good hour on the bus to get to school, and semi-private press streams usually lasted a couple hours. But Miko didn't want to miss a thing! Her parents, both sets, would talk her ear off later, but for now, Miko was pretty sure she could jam a chair under the doorknob and turn the volume way up. Though she'd prefer not to have to.

Miko opened up another tab and started searching for anything that could have delayed her chance at getting even closer to the only aliens that she would ever get to know. Her phone started to ring, and she turned the alarm off. Miko had set 3 different alarms, just in case. Though she was lazy when it came to the things she couldn't be bothered to care about, when something mattered to her, she would go through hell and high water to make sure she got it done.

Sound. Glorious sound. The rev of a high-powered engine started pouring out of her speakers and Miko just about fell off of her bed. Clicking the stream with ferocity only a teenage girl on a mission could have, Miko pressed her nose to her laptop's screen and waited in giddy anticipation.

The alien was a truck. It was an honest-to-god 18-wheeler in a stunning red with huge smokestacks and a killer trailer. There was the symbol for the alien government, the Autobots, modestly imprinted in silver on the truck's grill. Flash photography shined off of the Mack's polished hood, and Miko couldn't help but cheer. This was the Real Deal. It had to be! The vehicle screamed 'dude-in-charge', and she could totally get why he was called Optimus Prime. Even his car form lived up to the hype.

Oh, she was so glad the internet existed right now. Miko took half a dozen screen shots, and settled in so that she could imprint the next few moments onto her brain. The truck wasn't just a truck, after all. He was also a robot.

Miko wouldn't miss seeing the switch even if she went blind watching.

It happened in a split-second. One minute the truck had been trundling down the red carpet, and the next- chk-chk-chk! The hood broke apart, the wheels moved around, the cool trailer detached, and a head popped up on top of a newly formed torso. Everything on the mech shifted easily and with purpose. It was hypnotizing. When everything stopped moving, in the place of the truck was a positively enormous bipedal robot in red, blue, and silver. His eyes were a shocking light-up blue. And he was BUILT. Sculpted jaw, broad shoulders, and tires stacked along the back of his legs.

Miko had been so focused on the robot that she hadn't noticed the large African-American man who had climbed out of the truck's cab just before he transformed. Optimus Prime (she said it out loud in a dramatic voice) looked down at him, and the man in the nice suit and tacky tie stepped forward to climb to the podium. The Prime straightened and folded his arms behind him in a military fashion, looking very uncomfortable. Why would the big OP be nervous? Stage fright?

And then the guy in the suit started to talk, and Miko's jaw dropped.

Thirty minutes later, and Miko was practically vibrating in her seat. This was so worth the wait! Oh, she had to talk to Raf about this. And Jack. And her host parents! Everyone!

Miko typed in the link they had mentioned, printed out a form, grabbed her phone and rocketed down the hallway.

* * *

><p>Raf enjoyed school. It was a place where he could learn, where he wasn't ignored, and where he could count on people to appreciate his brain. Raf had spent most of the day relaxing and doing coursework, and he was surprised by how quickly it seemed to have gone by.<p>

"Vince! Give it back!"

Too quickly, it seemed.

"What, who's gonna make me? Not you, shorty!" Vince guffawed. He held the laptop he had filched higher in the air, smirking as the nerd he had taken it from tried in vain to take it back.

"Vince, c'mon," the short boy he was bullying exclaimed. "If you give it back, I won't have to tell a teacher!" Raf tried to look tough, but he failed as his lower lip trembled. "How many more detentions can you afford to get?"

Vince scowled at the little know-it-all. He was obviously thinking that Raf knew better than everybody else because he had skipped a few grades. The bully was always trying to prove that brains didn't equal smarts. He had threatened on more than one occasion to come knock sense into Raf's head.

"You tryin' to threaten me?" Vince scoffed, trading the laptop between his hands. "That hurts my feelings, kid. Really, deep down. Y'wanna know what happens when someone hurts my feelings?"

Raf's eyes widened and he show his head. "No, Vince," he stammered, knowing almost instinctively what Vine would do to his computer if he said anything else. Raf never should have brought it, the boy thought in despair.

"Too bad, cuz I'm feelin' real emotional," the bully spat. "I dunno, if I don't let it all out, I might go nuts. Or worse, I might get angry."

Raf swallowed. He really couldn't afford another laptop. But Raf didn't want to get in another 'fight' with Vince, either, and he really didn't know what to do.

"And you know the school counselor," Vince mocked, "said I had 'anger issues'. Said specifically not to 'exacerbate' my 'condition'. I dunno about you, but I'm feelin' pretty exacerbated." Vince made as id to drop the hardware he was holding onto the sidewalk, but caught it a heartbeat later.

"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings," Raf mumbled shakily. "I just want be the LAPTOP YOU STOLE-" the preteen shouted, and Vince hurriedly slapped one of his hands over Raf's mouth.

The bully leaned in, holding Raf's computer in one hand. With the other, he pushed Raf against the orange brick of their school building, pressing the 12 year against the wall. Oh, no, Raf thought, he was in for it now. He had broken one of Vince's first rules- Thou Shalt Not Narc. It wasn't like online, where he could just code out or hack the program to help him instead of Vince. No, Vince's rules were unavoidable and unchangeable. They were the laws of the jungle.

Sometimes Raf wished real life was more like a video game.

"And now you go sayin' I'm stealing," Vince snarled. Raf could feel the older boys hot breath ghost over his cheeks. "Like I'd steal from a punk like you. You seen my car? You seen it?" Vince shook Raf and Raf shook his head in return. "Course not. Get your head outta this thing every once in a while," he said, motioning with the laptop, "and maybe you'd see why nobody comes to help you, you little-"

"DO I LOOK LIKE NOBODY TO YOU, YOU SCRAPHEAP?!"

A streak of color darted into the parking lot and over the sidewalk in a beeline for Raf, and the boy almost shouted in delight. He smiled under Vince's hand and straightened up to see her better. Miko Nakadai was one of Raf's best friends at Jefferson High, and had been since she had started school there in the fall for her year-long foreign exchange program from Japan. Miko was strong, loud, and knew which parts of Vince to kick to make him back down fast. She waved hello to Raf, and the boy felt relieved. Vince would back off, now!

Vince rolled his eyes and yanked Raf in front of him, dangling Raf's laptop from one hand in a challenging way. Miko stopped and balled up her hands into fists, looking to Raf for a hint on what to do. Raf drooped, looking downwards. Maybe he wouldn't have to back off after all, Raf thought sadly. This time Vince had collateral. Raf tried to wiggle his shoulders to slip away, but Vince was pinning him tight.

"And now you have to get Robo-girl to come save you!" Vince said pityingly. "It's really too bad that the only person willing to help you out is just as weird as you!" Raf stiffened, and his eyes darted over to Miko, who looked like she was two words away from taking Vince down, laptop or not. Raf really hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Vince waited for a few seconds before he turned his head down to Raf and said with a sickly-sweet smile, "My mistake. Looks like even a robo-freak like her wouldn't bother trying to help yo-"

Miko couldn't take that. She let out a battle cry and made to tackle Vince to the ground. Raf could see his laptop's life flash before his eyes. Not to mention that both he and Miko would get detention for assaulting another student and Vince would get off scot-free because teachers never came to help unless VINCE was in trouble-

"Hey, Miko! RAF!"

Miko stopped short, stumbling, and Raf felt his heartbeat start to even out. The 12-year-old felt another swell of relief. Vince tightened his grip yet again and narrowed his beady green eyes.

"Darby," the bully hissed, "I'd suggest you move along."

Jack Darby was the most normal guy Raf knew. He had made friends with the older teenager after they had discovered that they were in the same pre-calculus class that Jack was having some trouble with. Raf was breezing through it, so he offered a study guide to him. When Jack had found Vince pinning the younger boy to his locker, the older teen had called a teacher over and made sure to watch out for Raf. Just like Miko, Jack was one of Raf's best friends. For being so plain, he had sense of right and wrong that Raf admired. Not to mention that Jack was one of the only teenage boys in school that Vince couldn't win over.

When Raf had made friends with Miko, the 3 had formed a group out of a shared necessity. It was easier to be a target when you had backup.

Together, they were usually a match for Vince, but today the playing field was uneven, and Raf knew Jack could tell. He could see it in the way that Jack stood, which, unlike Miko's wide, aggressive stance, was more subdued. Jack was going to try to talk their way out of this.

"Uh- Raf, Miko," Jack repeated awkwardly, "I got the approval for our…" His blue eyes roamed until they landed on Miko's t-shirt. They snapped back to the tense bully. "Science fiction club! The teacher's gonna wait a little longer, but she said if we weren't back in 10 minutes that she'd come out and find us herself-"

"What science fiction club?" Miko whispered loudly. Jack elbowed her and kept his eyes on Raf. Miko caught on quickly. "Oh, THAT science fiction club! You shoulda just said so! I still can't believe you got Castella's approval so fast!" Miko said slyly as she rubbed her side.

Vince held onto Raf for a few more seconds, debating whether or not they were lying. He obviously decided in the negative, because he shoved Raf forward and pushed Raf's laptop into his chest. Miko rushed forward and braced her buddy before he tipped over. Jack put himself between Vince and Miko, effectively forming a rather gangly grey wall as he glared at the bully with angry grey eyes. Raf was sometimes surprised by how clever Miko could be at times, but he was honestly grateful. Castella was the combined gym/technology teacher, and she was notoriously tough. Even Vince wouldn't risk having to run laps for a month.

The three shared a smile as Vince high-tailed it out of the parking lot towards his car and out of the school zone. "You're lucky I got a race today!" Vince screamed at them. "We'll settle this later!"

"TRY IT WHEN YOU'RE NOT HIDING BEHIND A TWELVE YEAR OLD, YOU JERK!" Miko called back, slapping a high five with Raf.

"Miko!" Raf laughed nervously, "You shouldn't taunt him like that."

"Why not?" Miko asked, shrugging. "Seems like it worked out pretty okay to me. You got your computer and all your limbs, right?"

Raf made to reply, but Jack interrupted him.

"Guys, maybe we should make good on that Science Fiction club thing," Jack said wryly, gesturing to the school behind him. "Vince is bound to come back around."

"Science Fiction! You really couldn't have picked a cooler name? We sounded like stiffs! _Nerdy_ stiffs," Miko added jokingly.

"He didn't have a lot to work with, Miko," Raf reminded her, clutching his laptop tightly.

The tree friends climbed the stairs of their school in companionable silence. Raf opened the door and held it. Jack and Miko filed inside, though Miko stopped to ruffle Raf's thick brown hair. Jack rolled his eyes and smiled. Raf closed the door behind him and followed his two friends down the hallway. He was happy that they had gotten to him in time, and that Vince hadn't smashed his laptop. He'd have to send more autobot links to Miko soon.

If there was anything Raf was good at, it was the internet. In real life he had to be saved a lot, which was odd because nothing was safe from him on the web. Luckily, he had Jack and Miko, who both helped him out when he needed it. Raf knew he'd help them out whenever he could too.

It was what friends did.

* * *

><p>Jack concentrated on the tiles under his feet as he followed his friends through the school to the Principal's office. They were blue, orange, grey, and boring, but they gave him something to focus on that wasn't the growing problem that was Vince. The guy was becoming a lot braver-usually he didn't go for Raf in broad daylight. Something was off, but Jack wasn't sure what, and he wasn't sure he cared. The teen just had to figure out something to do about it. Miko wouldn't always be around and neither would he- they had to get Vince to back off so he wouldn't try anything while they weren't around.<p>

Miko and Raf were talking again, and they were excited, judging by their tone. Miko had a sheet of paper, and she was joyfully pointing to certain parts of it while Raf explained them. Jack was only half-listening. He was still half in their problem, but he was glad the two of them were relaxing.

Jack, personally, was having a hard time getting the image of Raf trapped under Vince's arm out of his head. Jack really hated the way Vince had smirked, and they way he and Miko had had to wait while the jerk tossed around Raf's laptop like it was nothing.

It meant a lot to Raf, obviously, and to Jack that meant it was valuable. So he had to stammer out an excuse, one that Vince almost hadn't bought. Seriously, Science Fiction club? What had he been thinking? Jack knew he couldn't just rush in and pull a hero-move (that was Miko's job) but when it came to this sort of thing he really couldn't stand being the 'responsible' one. Sometimes, Jack wanted to break from his routine and make like Miko. Letting loose with a punch and seeing Vince with a broken nose might almost be worth the guilt he felt later.

Not to mention Jack's mom would ground him until he was thirty if he tried something like that, but it didn't stop Jack from thinking about it occasionally.

So engrossed in his thoughts, Jack failed to notice Miko and Raf trying to get his attention until Miko's pink nails were almost up his nose.

"Helloooo, Earth to Jack? You there? Houston, we have a problem," the Japanese girl joked, waving her hand in front of his eyes.

Jack smiled and pushed her hand back. "I'm right here, guys," he defended, "Just spaced out a little. What's up?"

"Nothin' much, 7up," Miko replied, "Just the biggest thing to happen ever!"

"Sounds important," Jack said wryly. "Care to fill me in?"

"It's this big announcement that's been all over the news," Raf piped up, moving forward to stand between Jack and Miko. "You know, it just got broadcast a couple weeks ago?"

"Not really, no. I don't get out much."

"Replace 'much' with never in that statement, and it would be closer to the truth, Jackie-boy. Seriously, it's only everywhere on the news, the radio, the internet-"

"I think that would make it a double-negative," Raf interjected. Miko glared and the younger boy shrugged apologetically.

"WHAT-ever. It's even in magazines and billboards and junk, dude!" Miko continued, ticking each item off on her fingers. "EVERYWHERE. Do you live in a bubble, J-man? Cuz it sure seems like it."

Miko spun and began walking backwards so she could look him in the eye as she crossed her arms and waited for him to reply. The paper she was carrying had gotten shoved into the crook of her arm, and was now much more wrinkled than it had started out being.

"Are you being vague on purpose? You could be talking about celebrities, for all I know," Jack said, throwing up his arms briefly. He looked around her. "Corner."

Miko continued walking and took the turn with surprising grace, considering she couldn't see where she was going. She motioned to Raf, who had opened his laptop and was attempting to balance it between his arms as he typed.

"It was the one by the CHA," Raf said helpfully. "You know-"

"Autobots," Jack sighed. Now his friends were in on the hype. Miko nodded eagerly. "What's so important about it?"

Wrong thing to say, because now both of his friends had stopped and were looking at him like Jack had just said he hated Christmas.

"What's so important?" Miko asked incredulously. "What's so IMPORTANT?! It's a whole 'nother planet, dude! One that we could go to! In our lifetime! Heck, before we graduate! And you don't care?"

Raf nodded in agreement. Jack stopped walking and rubbed his face gently before exhaling out his nose. He turned to face them.

"It's not that I don't care- I just care about Earth more," Jack said defensively. "I thought all this stuff would die down eventually. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to realize that Earth and Cybertron don't get along too well. Finals are a little more important."

Then what Miko had said really hit him and Jack cocked his head to the side, unsure if he had heard her right.

"What do you mean, 'we' could go to? Cybertron's atmosphere is poisonous, right? Not to mention we're only in high school. None of us is even remotely qualified!"

"Jeez, you just gotta be Captain Buzzkill, dontcha? You're lucky Doctor Funtimes and her assistant are here to drag you outta that nice cozy shell you've made for yourself," Miko jeered. Jack bristled slightly.

"Why am I the assistant? I do all the work," Raf joked.

"You're the assistant because you haven't even gone through puberty yet," Miko muttered as she grabbed Jack's sleeve and pulled him to the floor.

"Anyway, that's what the whole broadcast was about, Jack."Raf said as he slid down to his knees and set his laptop gently on the linoleum. "The government's been trying to find a new way to improve Human/Cybertronian relations. They're a little messed up right now."

Jack ignored Miko's statement, folded his legs criss-cross-applesauce, and rested his head on his hand. "They're giant robots powered by solid energy, Raf. It's not really a surprise that nobody threw them a parade when they got here. We've got about a hundred years of pop culture telling us not to trust aliens. How are they going to get around that?"

Raf shrugged before he typed something else into his internet browser. Miko raised her hand and waved it as if she was in class.

"Ooh, me, me! It's really smart! It's just like what we do here, except with alien robots! Which makes it better! You know how I came over here from Japan?" Miko barely broke her question before she shook her head and pointed aggressively at Raf. "Whatever, I don't wanna have to answer questions, you gotta see it for yourself. Raf?"

"Pull the switch?" Raf shrugged, hovering over the space bar.

"I was thinking more of a 'press the button', but I actually like yours better," Miko said decisively. Jack chose to remain silent.

The logo for Triple-J News flashed across the screen, and Jack let slip a groan. Miko shushed him. A serious looking woman with short, curly hair was staring into the camera.

_"Today, the infamous Cybertronian-Human Alliance, also known as the CHA, have begun implementing their first steps in a new program designed specially to improve inter-species relationships. The two allies have been neutral, but as of the Energon Earth Crisis, tensions have been rising."_ The woman paused and took a breath. _"Their program, known to the public as the Protoform Program, is currently accepting applicants 18 and under who show themselves to be capable of 'open-minded thinking' and creative problem solving. When asked for a formal statement, the CHA liaison had this to say;"_

A new clip took the woman's place on the screen. The speaker this time was male, heavyset, and African American. He was wearing a loosely knotted striped tie.

"_They say you can't understand someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes_," the liaison said, coughing into his hand. The newscast named him as Agent Fowler, CHA.

"_Well, our alien buddies don't wear shoes, but they manage to walk with us just fine. The problem isn't with our cybertronian allies-it's with how little we _humans_really understand them. That's where the PP- Protoform Program- comes in. We're gonna go make ourselves understand them. The CHA is looking for talented kids to record and send back to Earth their experiences on Cybertron in our program. It will be a fair foreign exchange_," Fowler explained, motioning with his hand.

"_They send their kids to earth, we send ours over there. It's 100% safe; there will be United Forces Officers assigned to keep watch. Our mission is completely harmless- the point of the program is to learn as much about both of our races as we can. Hopefully the younger generation can succeed where we haven't."_ Something swung into the frame, and the man batted it away. "_Uncle Sam's _top hat_, watch where you're moving that mic-"_

The clip stopped rolling, and the woman gazed on, unperturbed. "_No other information has been released besides an internet address and an official phone number where those interested may contact the CHA. Students interested are advised to turn in their application before-"_

Raf paused the video and looked at Jack expectantly. Jack let out a long breath.

"I really hope that acronym never catches on," he said blankly.

Miko laughed nervously and nudged his shoulder. "Shell-shocked, Jack-o? C'mon, you gotta be at least a tiny bit interested!"

"Why?" Jack asked, crooking an eyebrow. "Why do you guys care if I'm interested or not? I mean, it's not like you…" The older teen stopped dead in the middle of his sentence. He drew a hand over his face. "You two already signed up." It wasn't a question.

Miko beamed. "And the last horse crosses the finishing line," she giggled. "Guilty as charged!"

"I found out a couple weeks in advance," Raf admitted. "I spent a week straight of begging and another half a week of rational arguments getting my mama to sign my application form. I sent it in a couple days ago, and I've been waiting to see the confirmation email all day."

"That's why you brought your laptop to school," Jack realized. Raf nodded. "You've been waiting to see if they got your application?"

"Yeah. I passed the info along to Miko, and she's been working just as hard as I have to get her parents to agree."

"They're this close to breaking," Miko said, holding her fingers slightly apart. "I can feel it! I mean, if for nothing else, _"Went to an alien planet and did homework on it"_ is gonna look _great_ on a college application."

"And you want me to sign up, too?"

"Dude," Miko sighed dramatically, "You HAVE to sign up. Like it or not, we're a group. A power trio! You can't break up the band! As good friends, me and Raf _can't_ let you waste your life here in Nowheresville."

"Since when were we a band?" Jack asked, his head spinning. Cybertron? Another _planet_? Jack had always wanted to be an astronaut, but the furthest he had ever thought of going was the moon.

"Since that day you rescued my keys from the storm drain and I made you a mix tape as a thank you," Miko remembered.

"Since that day you stopped Vince from breaking my glasses after Computer Science and we teamed up for the class," Raf mentioned with a smile.

"SINCE THAT FIRST FOLDER OF TERRIBLE GIFS!" Miko and Raf said simultaneously, high-fiving.

"All for one, one for all, bro," Miko said, slinging an arm around Jack's shoulder. "You're a musketeer whether you like it or not."

Jack pressed his lips into a flat line and looked contemplative. These were his friends- some of his only friends. How could he tell them about wanting normalcy when they were trying their hardest to bring him somewhere extraordinary? It didn't seem fair to them. But what would his mom say? He couldn't just barge in and say, 'Hey, I want to go to another planet!' Jack had to think about her, too.

He was stuck.

But staring down his friends as they looked at him with hopeful eyes, Jack just couldn't say so.

"En garde?" Jack said weakly.

"THAT MEANS YES!" Miko squealed, and Raf's face lit up as she tackled both boys into a bear hug. "WE KNEW YOU'D DO IT!"

"It doesn't mean I'm _doing_ it," Jack protested, "It means I'll _think_ about it! I have to see if I really want to do this, and get my Mom's approval-"

Miko wasn't listening, having opted to do a victory dance instead. Raf looked apologetic as he laughed.

"There's no guarantee you'll even get selected, Miko! Thousands of kids must have the same idea!"Jack reminded her. Miko waved a hand dismissively.

"WE still have to get picked, you mean," she sniffed. "Don't worry about it! My mom always said I had the luck of the devil. I got enough mojo for all of us," Miko bragged, "So you might as well pack your bags right now!"

Jack glanced at Raf and wondered how the younger boy and Miko managed to pull him into things like this.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Getting Ready for Trouble

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." –Margaret Mead

Ratchet was almost ready to throw a wrench at his screen.

For the past decacycle, forms had been flooding into his workstation from earth, despite the fact that psychologically screening youngling applicants was Rung's job, not his. It was Perceptor's project, for pit's sakes. At the very least, file after file should be in HIS databanks instead of Ratchet's medical terminal.

As if Ratchet had nothing better to do with his time than read byte after byte of this drivel, it steadily loaded in. He had specifically informed Unit E that he was not responsible for choosing applicants! Humans were as tenacious as space barnacles and twice as ignorant at times. Ratchet almost wished for nothing more than to wash his servos of the entire idea.

But the Omega Keys were priority so he had to, as the earthlings would say, 'play nice'.

Humans. Ratchet had never supported coming into contact with their planet, resources be slagged. Cybertronians simply couldn't afford to waste the energon needed to power the space bridge.

After deleting the most recent batch of files and sending yet another coarsely worded report back to Earth, Ratchet decided to forego getting any paperwork done this cycle. Instead of filling out vital inventory, Ratchet would instead check on the artificial protoforms. Once he returned, and his fellow medics discovered the shortage of grade 4 mesh replacement, perhaps it would get through to SOMEONE that he had better things to do than waste his time on a futile endeavor.

Ratchet closed his active programs and turned off his computer. He firmly resolved to get at least one cube of energon into his tanks, and spend at least two breems with a medical datapad for light reading after he saw to the protoforms.

He had not lied those orns ago when he had told Optimus that Perceptor's idea was untested- at the time, it had barely been conceived for a human year. Perceptor had been fascinated, much as Optimus had been, by the similarities between humans and cybertronians. Dual optics, servos with 5 digits, and a bipedal mode associated with sentient beings made humans almost the organic mirror of cybertronians in miniature.

To Ratchet, it was unnerving, and any interest he may have held paled in comparison to Perceptor's. The small race had managed to hold the scientist's attention like no other hypotheses crafted at even the Cybertronian Science Academy.

Walking down the corridor, Ratchet wirelessly shut off the lights behind him as he made his way to the experimental medbay. The medic trudged through the base with a sort of begrudging grace, stepping around human teams and shrugging off attempts at communique with only the skill an overworked medical professional could have. Urging himself forward despite his wish to be anywhere other than Outpost Omega 1, he swept in and out of the refueling station. _Velocitron_ would be an improvement, Ratchet thought curmudgeonly. At least there he didn't have to worry about crushing beings without common sense beneath his pedes every five kliks!

One of these cycles, Ratchet promised himself, one of these cycles.

It took a little over half a human hour (or approximately five breems) to get to Perceptor's lab. Ratchet had managed to snag some datapads, though he was still without energon. The dispenser in the refuel station was clogged again, and Ratchet blamed the filter- it wasn't cleaned after every use as protocol demanded. That was the price paid for having medical interns and younglings at the Outpost.

Ratchet decide to vent his frustration on the keypad next to Perceptor's door. He punched in the 10-digit code irritably and waited as it unlocked and opened.

The door gaped before him with an almost silent hiss. Gathering his datapads more securely, Ratchet whisked into the room, quickly turning the lights on. The main systems of the laboratory automatically booted up, and the medic turned the corner-

Only to find Perceptor in a state of recharge so deep it bordered on stasis-lock. The red bot was sprawled over what appeared to be a spread of processor scans- human and cybertronian. His partner had once again forgotten to recharge and refuel in his thirst for knowledge and his body had demanded what it hadn't been given.

Perceptor would ruin his spinal struts recharging on his desk, but Ratchet was not in the mood to indulge his friend by waking him. Instead, the medic got a cube from the dispenser in the corner, and entered the adjoined room. And he didn't feel guilty in the slightest. This was the fifth time in a vorn that the scientist had decided not to use his berth. Perceptor could learn to deal with an aching chassis on his own, thank you very much.

The room was quiet and dark, and the only sound came from the faint thrum of machinery. Stasis tubes lined the furthest wall, and next to each one, small computers lazily displayed the vital signs of the most important part of the Protoform Program; the human-constructed protoforms. Each had a spark shard donated by the keepers of Vector Sigma, but they served no purpose other than to keep the drone-like bodies functioning. These bodies were blank slates, empty shells. As opposed to the usual steel grey, they were a dark tan.

These artificial protoforms were unstable, the last percent of their CNA sequences blank, ready for human donation.

According to Perceptor, and of course, Ratchet's own tests, the alien DNA translation would allow each human to control a protoform with their mind. Amplified by a Cortical Psychic Booster, a youngling could simply fall 'asleep' in their berth and wake in a protoform. The first tests had gone well enough- the CPB didn't seem to interfere with a human's natural neurological balance, and the 'pilot' testing seemed rather enthusiastic. There were no ill effects, though the science team was still combing over the data.

The only con was that the connection seemed to be rather delicate- a human had to Upload during REM sleep, and if their organic recharge cycles broke in the process the protoform would become unresponsive and the human's consciousness would return to their organic body. The test pilot was experimenting with meditation to solve this problem.

Ratchet bit into his energon cube and tore off the corner, surprising himself with how low his energon levels felt. He tapped the smooth surface of one terminal, lost in thought. When had _he_ last refueled? Perhaps he could not chastise Perceptor as much as he would like…

Vitals were steady and holding, though the energon levels of the drones were a little low. His digits flickered across a screen, quickly programming the drip to top them off. Ratchet then methodically checked spark-beat, reaction, joint strength, and cabling atrophy. All of them were at their projected norm. Ratchet would prefer their spark-beats to be a bit more regular, but he had long since learned that beggars can't be choosers when it came to spark-shards.

Satisfied that the protoforms were taken care of, Ratchet vented deeply and took the time to appreciate the quiet of the room. Aside from the hum of the fans, it was completely peaceful. The medic wondered why the base couldn't be like this more often as he removed a datapad from his stack and settled into an old metal chair to read.

"Whatcha doin', Ratch?"

Ratchet jumped, dropping his datapad and spilling his drink. He knew that voice, and knew it well. Primus, he hadn't even heard anybot come in! Who even had even given him clearance? All of the lab assistants were out on assignment or in recharge.

"SMOKESCREEN!" Ratchet shouted, standing to wipe the energon from his front, "How many times have I told you to CONFIRM before entering the lab or to stay out?! There are unstable-"

"Unstable protoforms, I got that," Smokescreen replied impatiently. The youngling was too often a scraplet in Ratchet's hide. "But they don't look too unstable to me."

"Oh? Did you just recently gain a certification of study from the autobot academy in Cybertronian Biology and Physiology?" Ratchet snarked, crossing his arms irritably. "Because if you did not, I would say that I know more than you when I say DO NOT DISTURB UNSTABLE PROTOFORMS!"

Smokescreen leaned away, one servo to the side of his helm in mock-pain. "Geez, doc, blow my audio-receptors out. I wasn't _disturbing_ them or anything."

_But you were disturbing me_, Ratchet thought with a glare. Smokescreen's doorwings quivered as the young bot stiffened.

The autobot guard-in-training, Smokescreen, had previously been assigned under Alpha Trion in the archives, but after the first Attack on the Senate before the Upheaval he had been reassigned to Omega Outpost 1. Alpha Trion had been offlined during the attack, allowing Cybertronian discovery of a planet hidden from public scrutiny; Earth. Normally, this planet would have been ignored, if not for one very important file having been discovered; Alpha Trion had documented where he had sent the Autobot relics and the Omega Keys before the attack. Not 2 vorns after the Autobot Representative Government had been formed, the human United Nations had been contacted, and Unit E had moved into the Outpost as well.

The young mech had taken to humans very well, and as such had been permanently placed with Unit E. Or, more accurately, with Ratchet and his science team. Prowl, Smokescreen's older brother, had let Ratchet know that in no uncertain terms was Smokescreen to be let deliberately into a dangerous situation. He was after all, a youngling.

While that was all well and good for Prowl's peace of processor, it was death by Scrapmetals for Ratchet's. The young praxian was loud, curious, and brazenly unapologetic. And, unfortunately, the bot formed very strong bonds very quickly. Smokescreen had met with Ratchet ONCE and now whenever he could he sought the medic out. Whenever he was bored or uncertain of what he should be doing, Smokescreen would inevitably find Ratchet for 'orders'.

'Orders' really meaning 'something to do while Ratchet was in the middle of something very important.'

"Regardless of what you thought you were doing," Ratchet huffed, "They are in a very delicate state of development. If anything were to happen, the Earth project would be set back for orns."

Smokescreen perked up as soon as Ratchet's glare faded, his wings forming a cheerful 'v'. He sidestepped the old medic, peering closely into the stasis tubes with interest. Smokescreen put a servo on the glass and grinned.

"I can't believe we're actually getting younglings here," he said excitedly, tapping his digits against a tube. "I mean, I haven't seen another bot my age for lunar cycles!"

"That is Prowl's error, not mine," Ratchet grumbled, pushing Smokescreen from the protoforms to stand in front of them protectively. "And the younglings are not cybertronian, Smokescreen. These vessels are merely for use for their scientific observation!"

Smokescreen was not so easily cowed. "But they will be in there, kinda! And the bodies are bots! I'll finally have somebot to talk to who thinks more like me. And not like somebot a million vorns old-!"

Ratchet's servo hit Smokescreen's cool helm with a clang, eliciting a yelp as the youngling scrabbled away and rubbed his new dent.

"I mean, advanced in age-"

"Smokescreen," Ratchet warned.

"Whatever! I'm just glad I'll finally be able to show a human around Cybertron! Photos just aren't the same," Smokescreen argued. "That's all."

Ratchet had finally had enough. His energon levels had barely been replenished, his processor was demanding the mental respite of recharge, and Smokescreen had been chattering about this same subject for an earth week!

"They will only be allowed control of the frames for _sanctioned_ missions with of-age partners, Smokescreen!" Ratchet had said this several times during the last few solar cycles. "I highly doubt that street-racing with you fits that profile."

"Aah, Ratch, that was once! I won't do it again!" Smokescreen whined, holding his servos clasped behind him sheepishly. "And I'm totally of age!"

Ratchet gave him a look.

"I am," he insisted, faltering.

The medic remained silent, staring Smokescreen down.

"Well, I will be," the praxian afforded, shuffling towards the door.

"Not during any of the humans' lifetimes," Ratchet grunted, pushing Smokescreen through. Smokescreen's optics widened.

Ratchet only managed to hear a surprised, "Wait, what?!" before the door slid shut and sealed with a gentle hiss.

* * *

><p>"Arcee," a voice called into the makeshift weapons range.<p>

Arcee lifted her arm blades from the drone she was systematically destroying and snapped her head towards the hallway. A familiar silhouette was outlined against the bright light, and she snapped her weapons away and out of sight.

"Commander," she said dutifully, shaking the drone's energon off her servos. The runoff had gotten all over them, and it had to be recycled to fuel more drones. It would collect in the drains in the floor, she reasoned. Arcee stood, pedes facing front as she sharply saluted the officer.

"At ease," Prowl said, crossing his arms behind him. He hummed in an odd, professional way as he observed Arcee's carnage. " Your integrity is to be commended. Not many mecha would improve their servo-to-servo during a day off."

"Integrity had nothing to do with it," Arcee replied stiffly, her saluting arm falling back to her side. And it was true. Lately, nothing had made Arcee feel more safe than training. Her processor had been replaying unpleasant memory files as she recharged. While Arcee knew it was just her battle computer trying to calculate ways to better get out of such a situation should it happen again, it didn't help to just know.

Not when she was chained to a wall, and Tailgate was on the ground, and that fragging spider-glitch was asking over and over for information Arcee didn't have. Not when Arcee had to watch as no matter what she did, Tailgate lay slumped on the floor, the light leaving his optics again and again. And for Primus' sake, it _wasn't helping_ when Arcee had to hear Tailgate's voice crackling "Arcee," so pitifully before the glitch wrenched her disgusting techno-organic foreleg out of his chest and Arcee could _see_ his spark go out.

Prowl remained silent as Arcee refused to continue speaking, waiting before he chose to quietly reply.

"Arcee…" He seemed almost irritated, and Prowl never showed much emotion if he could help it. "You've been reassigned." Ah, that was more like him. Straight to business.

Her shoulders rose a small amount in surprise. A lot of mental health medics had been suggesting Arcee retire from Special Ops, said that it wasn't healthy, but no one had had the ball bearings to get her reassigned. It was generally agreed that Arcee was volatile. It was safer to do nothing than to trigger a processor malfunction.

As if she'd want out of Ops, though- that was crazy. Arcee couldn't stop serving Cybertron, not after all she had lost. Her job was the last thing she had. And she wasn't dangerous or explosive- the femme was _grieving_. The two came servo-in-servo, but they weren't the same. Not at all.

"May I ask where, sir?" Arcee said clearly, turning her head upwards to look directly into Prowl's yellow visor. Right where his optics should've been, if Arcee could have seen them. His doorwings twitched almost imperceptibly.

"You may," Prowl replied, folding his servos behind him. He vented air, and stood taller. "According to Autobot records, you worked with younglings before the Council's upheaval, am I correct?"

Arcee quirked an optic ridge and settled her weight on one leg, shifting her stance in a disinterested way. Prowl wasn't for changing subject abruptly and reminiscing on the 'good old days', so obviously this was relevant to her reassignment. Primus, she hoped they weren't assigning her to the new recruits- they never lasted long. Not to mention that they were younglings by majority, and mercenaries targeted them first because they had the least experience fighting, never mind the fact that they _weren't even fully grown. _Arcee didn't know if she could take another bot she was responsible for greying out on her.

"Yes, I was a teacher before the war," Arcee said slowly. "I was also pink and white, and I would prefer not to return to being either. But you haven't answered my question, sir. Where am I being reassigned?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

The question surprised her. Arcee hadn't thought about her Academy days in the longest time…

"I mostly taught sparklings and younglings, sir. I was given the job when I graduated into my final frame because of which _well _I was sparked from. I never chose to be a teacher, Prowl. I guess I just didn't hate the job enough to leave my charges."

Prowl nodded, absorbing the information. His faceplates betrayed nothing, as they always did. Primus, she hated his poker-face. Once again, Arcee hoped she wasn't being reassigned to younglings. It was too easy to get attached to them.

What Arcee really wanted to do was go on another recon mission. Losing herself sneaking into the Autobot Representation's enemies' bases and stealing their secrets away was her favorite past time.

And maybe, if Arcee was lucky, she'd get a lead on that slagging spider-bot who took Tailgate away from her.

"You're being reassigned to Omega Outpost 1, under medical CMO and acting commander Ratchet."

Arcee's optics widened. "That's the on the outskirts of Iacon," she hummed. "I haven't been back there since I first joined the military."

"It will take a few solar cycles to receive groundbridge confirmation from the Capital, but you will be transferred soon," Prowl intoned neutrally.

"I didn't think that there was any need for an intelligence specialist so far from Altihex," She appraised, resting a servo on her hip. "Something command isn't telling us?"

"No," Prowl said firmly. "You aren't being sent to Iacon for Intelligence Operations."

Arcee stopped and growled. "Then why would they need me there? And don't say it's because-"

"Younglings," Prowl interjected. Arcee's spark throbbed. "They need someone with military training and previous experience in working with younglings. It's a protection operation, Arcee."

"I'm not training a squad," Arcee snarled, seeing red. "Especially not a bunch of softsparked children who can't protect themselves!"

"Protection, Arcee," Prowl repeated, placing a comforting servo on her shoulder. She shrugged it off. "You're not training a squad. At most, you're going to teach cybertronian customs and history while making sure that any decepticon dissenters don't jeopardize the project that Ratchet and Perceptor are working on."

Arcee unclenched her servos. She hadn't even noticed that she'd made them into fists.

Regarding Prowl with a sort of confused irritation, Arcee sneered. "A diplomacy mission? For scientists? Prowl, you have to be joking."

"I do not joke, Arcee."

"What kind of youngling doesn't know basic cybertronian customs? There are a few holes in your mission, _commander_!"

Prowl let out a deep vent and gazed out over the decimated firing range.

"A youngling who isn't _from _Cybertron." He sent her a datapacket. "Read the briefing, Arcee."

* * *

><p>"Look, Bee, just hold your end up-"<p>

A strained streeeeep answered him, and the hardline for the spacebridge power supply Bulkhead was trying to rewire tilted again.

"I know it's heavy, but we all have to pull our weight here! No space bridge-"

Bumblebee groaned in reply and the line shifted upwards a little more. _No Relics._

"You got it! Just hold it for a minute. A couple welds and the spacebridge should be good as a new gearshift," Bulkhead grinned, moving his massive chassis closer to the break.

Bee watched as Bulkhead did surprisingly delicate work, soldering each broken wire back together and reinforcing the new bundles with nanite-laden mesh replacement. His arms were starting to groan from the strain of helping, and Bee wasn't sure how long he could hold this capacity before he had to drop it. The yellow bot beeped insistently.

"Just a little longer," Bulkhead hissed, his dentas gritted as he squinted and readjusted his hold on his welder.

Metal squealed on metal, and Bee tried to hike his payload higher. It didn't work. His hydraulics were starting to give.

_Bulkhead, it's gonna fall!_ He chirped with wide optics. Bulkhead paused to look up from his work, and his jaw fell slightly.

"Okay, okay! Let's just-" Bulkhead quickly hefted his end, lifting with his knees. Bee stumbled back, glad that the sensitive wiring Bulkhead had just finished up wasn't in danger anymore. He rolled his shoulders, popping his doorwings back into place. Bee was made for speed, not heavy labor.

The hardline was set on the floor with a gentle crash, and Bulkhead followed suit. Bee vented harshly, and then picked up the bolts they had discarded before Bulk had started his repair job.

"Thanks, Bee," Bulkhead said, taking the bolts in hand and fastening the power supply's cover in 3 quick movements. "Maybe next time I should ask the ol' Hatchet instead."

Bee made a disappointed sound and he rubbed the back of his helm in embarrassment.

"No, no, not like that! I just meant that HE was the one pushing to get it fixed, so maybe he should've helped fix it," Bulkhead placated the younger bot. Bumblebee gave him a dry look.

They passed the next few breems in companionable silence, Bee giving Bulkhead some tool when he needed it, Bulkhead talking about general happenings in the construction of Omega 1's extensions for the humans. Apparently, some human named Fowler was a jerk, and another named Sumdac- soom-dack? couldn't tell a flux capacitor from a null circuit with a full-spectrum analyzer. And Bulkhead was being recruited for security detail on Project-

Bee snapped out of his daze.

_Project Protoform?_ He interjected, leaning forward. His doors twitched in excitement. _Did they say anything about me?_

"You?" Bulkhead tilted his helm, and squinted. "I don't think so."

Bee cursed.

"Hey, hey, hey! Watch the language!" The larger bot scolded, subspacing his tools. "What's the matter?"

Bee made to reply, but the door opened violently and a red, white and blue blur skidded into the room.

"Bee! BEE!" Smokescreen panted, optics wide. Bee tilted his head curiously.

_What?_ He walked up to Smokescreen, who tossed an arm over Bee's shoulder and groaned. His thoughts completed their circuit. _Is something wrong with Ratchet?_

Bulkhead finished cleaning up his workspace quickly. Didn't want something to get stepped on around the younglings, probably.

"What? No! It's the humans," Smokescreen said, as if it were obvious. "I might not get to take one out to see Cybertron!" He whined in a dramatic way.

_Well, yeah_, Bumblebee chirruped. _You're not of age yet. _

"Neither are you!"

Bee made a staticky noise and scuffed one foot against the floor. Smokescreen's optics widened and he slumped with his whole frame.

"Seriously?! When?"

Bee vreeped and made to edge away, holding up his servos in surrender.

"A whole decacycle? And you never told me! This cycle keeps getting better and better," Smokescreen moaned. "At LEAST tell me you got into the project."

Bulkhead snorted and picked up his box of odds and ends. "Nothing's been finalized yet, Smoke. And why does it matter if Bee got picked for security detail? You're still not getting in on it."

"Au contraire," Smokescreen corrected him, snatching the box away and jogging over to the nearest cabinet to put it away. "If Bee has a human, I can come and visit whenever I want. Me and Bee are buddies! They can't say, 'Oh no, now that you have a job you can't have friends!', right?"

"Uh, what's ow-contra-air?" Bulkhead asked, squinting.

_Human term, Bulk. And they can't stop you_, Bee beeped hesitantly, _but they can say 'Smokescreen, get back to your post before I comm Prowl'._

"Like I'm gonna listen to that stuffed-chassis," Smokescreen huffed. He leaned against the counter with most of his frame. It always surprised Bee how Smokescreen could seem to have no struts one minute and then like he had two frames in his chassis the next.

"SMOKESCREEN!"

Case-in-point, Smokescreen stiffened immediately, his servo flying up into a sloppy-but-clearly-practiced salute. Something on the counter clattered to the floor.

Bulkhead broke into a hearty guffaw. Smokescreen's internal fans came on and he sputtered, trying to regain his dignity.

"SMOKESCREEN!"

"Well, that sounds like my supervising officer," Smokescreen muttered, shooting both of them a half-sparked glare. He limped towards the door like an inmate on his way to death row. "But we're not done talking about this, Bee! And if you get ANY news-"

_I comm you_, Bee chirped between bouts of mechanical snickering. _I won't forget, honest!_

The door shut behind Smokescreen, and Bulkhead looked down at Bee.

"You're totally going to 'forget', aren't you."

Bee beeped happily.

"Then I wouldn't advise you to check your comm messages," Bulkhead said rolling his optics. "Wouldn't want you to forget one of your first official mission assignments."

Bee turned his head so fast that Bulkhead didn't even get a chance to blink.

You said they didn't mention me! Bee accused, looking through his messages with vigor. Wow, there was a LOT of missed comms from Smokescreen. How many pings could a bot send in half a cycle?

"They didn't say anything to me," Bulkhead confessed, "But they DID say that the assignments went out today."

Bee found the largest data packet in his messages and waited in trepidation. He opened it, and the information flooded his mind. If he didn't have a face mask, Bee was sure he would be grinning like mad.

"Something tells me you like what you see," Bulk chuckled, watching Bumblebee's doorwings hike up to impossible heights.

_I'm in!_ Bumblebee cheered. _I get to work with humans again!_

"Still not telling Smokescreen?"

_Pit, no. I wouldn't get a free moment until the new humans showed up._

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for the delay. And after you all took the time to fav and follow and leave such nice reviews! I've been swamped with work, so I can't guarantee chapter 3 to come out perfectly soon, but I'm not going to give up! The story's really going to pick up soon.<p>

This story is, as mentioned, AU, but I also pick and choose elements of different canons that I like and I blend them up with a healthy helping of the Aligned continuity. I'm also planning on doing alternating human/cybertronian chapters.

Thank you for your support!


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